The Day the Whole World Went Away
by WaterH20
Summary: Life as Victor Creed was not easy. Living a life among humans was not what he had bargained for. He never meant to fall in love, yet under demeaning circumstance he knew he had to leave. But what happens when he finds himself back in his old life?
1. Chapter 1

He was an animal. A killing machine.

He slept in her bed. The love of his life. The only woman to ever see beyond his hostility. His arms wrapped around her. He held her as tight as he could in hopes of the moment never vacating him. He was at his happiest with her in his arms. He could smell her sweet vanilla locks. He dug his nose further into her neck and inhaled deeply.

"I love you so much, Sophie," He whispered in her ear. She quivered in her sleep, as if a sudden cold winter breeze had found them. He squeezed her tighter like a snake suffocating it's pray. The curves of her body fit like a perfect puzzle into his. His arm wrapped around her breasts.

Victor couldn't imagine himself anywhere else but here. He didn't want to, nor did he ever close his eyes. With every sleep, with every blink, he was haunted by the horrendous deeds he had committed. The horrendous deeds he commits. All the willpower in the world couldn't help Victor Creed. Even laying low got him into trouble.

The phone rang. Sophie awoke as if a car had crashed through the window. She tumbled out of bed, slipping through his arms, to the phone. It was an emergency. It always is. The phone always made his stomach sink. The irritating sound it produced always meant she was leaving. It was the worse sound he had ever come across.

He mindlessly watched her put her clothes on. She kept tripping over her shoes and purses. He couldn't help but admiring her matching undergarments. She slipped her green scrubs on. Dropping to the floor, she tried to find the purse she was currently using. It was mixed in with all the other designer bags he had bought for her. "Do you know where my purse is?" she asked delicately. Her big brown eyes pierced his conscience.

He desperately didn't want to her to leave. He had a horrible feeling. "You left it on the table," he responded, untangling himself out of the sheets. He already had his clothes on before she came back with the purse. The clothes were still a little damp from the beating rain they had escaped when coming home from dinner. He had meant to propose to her this night.

"Oh, you don't have to get dressed! Just go back to sleep baby," she calmly insisted.

"I'm going with you," Victor dictated, "It is late and you're not going out there alone."

Setting her purse down on the bed, she went into the bathroom. She tied her hair up into a bun. He hated that bun. He liked her hair loose. She spoke through the bobby pins in her mouth, "Vic, it's right down the street. I'll be fine."

"NO!" he roared. The look in his eyes were possessive, as if he was fighting the other alpha male for the prize. She turned around, giving in to his contest, but seeming very upset over the matter.

"Okay," she mumbled, "Are you ready to go?"

He opened the door for her then locked it with his spare key. The rain was beating harder than before. The water drains in the street had over flooded. He had taken his large black coat off and hovered it over Sophie's head, shielding her from the rain. They hurried down the slippery cement steps and onto the sidewalk. "Hold onto me," he urged.

The walk was short, but the rain was unforgiving. All his senses were alert. He felt Sophie's arms clinging to his abdomen and the rain dripping down his face. He tasted it's sulfur substance. He smelled the wet deteriorating cement they were walking on and his sour clothes from the previous outing. He saw a black cat wandering into to darkness.

"This is it," she pointed out. Trees covered the entrance to her patients New York apartment complex. Visitors had to enter through the parking garage around the corner. Suddenly, they heard a crash, like a dozen trash cans falling off the third story. This didn't please Victor one bit. He felt a very familiar ache through his finger tips. Something just wasn't right. He heard the cat squeal.

"You're not going in there, Sophia," he stammered, "we're going home now." He didn't even give her a chance to respond before he picked her up, still wrapped in his coat and headed in the opposite direction. That didn't fare to well with her.

"Let me down!" she struggled, "Victor, this is my job!" She wiggled as hard and swiftly as she could, but he kept her tight in his clutch. "Victor!!" She screamed. Violently, she forced her way out of his grip and fell to the the hard, soppy ground. The anger was fuming from her eyes. She stood up and tried to brush the wet dirt off her scrubs. He was too concerned with the alarming footsteps he heard around the corner than to see how visibly mad she was.

"You can't do this! I'm late now because of you! Do you not understand there's a man dying up there?" Victor scanned the proximity, something was not right. He felt his claws protrude from his fingertips. "Victor!!!" She shouted, trying to get his attention. He turned around, but was met with a hard slap in the face.

He roared like an indistinctive animal against a frightened Sophie. He was no longer Victor Creed, but a creature of a wild plain. He had only morphed into Sabretooth once before Sophie's eyes. He had promised himself never again, for the sake of their future together. For the sake of hiding his identity.

Suddenly, a gunshot hit the ground at their feet. Both alarmed, they looked in the direction across the street. Another bullet hit Sabretooth straight in the back. His roar echoed through the streets. Two more were aimed towards Sophie, but Sabretooth had jumped in front of her, taking the bullets and both of them into the street.

Sophie, crying on the pavement under him, had a genuine fear in her eyes. She was in a cave under his large body mass. Sabretooth had taken three more bullets since their brief meeting to the earth. He ignored the pain. "Listen," he huffed, as his heart pounded against her shoulder, "I need you to forget all thats on your mind right now." Two bullets, staggered breathing. "I need you to do this for me," he whispered reassuringly. "You need to be brave."

"I can't," she sobbed. He couldn't stand to see her cry. He took 4 more bullets and a deep breath.

"Sophie, I know you can. Don't you ever say you can't!" More bullets. Sabretooth wasn't healing as fast as the bullets were hitting him. At this point he was unsure if the gunman was still across the street or right above the both of them. "I need you to play dead. Stay as lifeless and limp as you can," he whispered as another bullet hit his leg. "When it is clear, run home. Get inside, lock everything," his breathing staggered, "Don't wait for me." There wasn't enough time to reassure her. He had to act.

He jumped up, high in the air. It seemed humanly impossible, but Sabretooth was no human. He saw the gun man clothed in all black, running in the opposite direction. Sabretooth let out a pure, deep, throat-opening roar that gave even the proudest lion a shiver. He bolted, running on both hands and feet.

The gunman was running into the darkness. That was no advantage. Sabretooth leaped into the air and took him to the wall. He slammed against the brick, clenching his throat with his hyper-extended fingers and razor sharp claws. He would show no mercy to the misunderstood gunman. He squeezed hard until he heard the man's choking.

"Who do you think you are, fool?" He squeezed harder. He would not stop until the man was lifeless. "Was all that shooting necessary? What?! Do I have something you want?" The man tried to speak, but Sabretooth squeezed harder. "No!" He stammered, "You don't get to talk."

He punched the merciless gunman in the stomach as hard as he could. Blood leaked through the sides of his eyelids. Sabretooth had him three feet above the ground. "Was this all for money? You wont need my money when you're dead." Punch two. Punch three. Punch four.

Sabretooth then sliced his stomach open with his razor claws, letting all his organs spill out. The man was dead. He dropped him to the ground. "Harder than I thought," he muttered. He would never find peace in the simple life.

He saw that Sophie was gone from where he last left her and assumed she made it home. He walked the gloomy street back to her apartment. It was a walk of shame for him. He knew cops would be buzzing these streets in the morning. Someone must of heard the gunshots. He hated the police. Since they live so close, he knew he would probably seem questionable as a suspect.

He slowly made it up the steps. Each leg was getting heavier to lift with each step. He took out his spare key and unlocked the door. He didn't know what to expect when he opened the door. He desperately hoped Sophie wasn't going to leave him. He couldn't live without her. How could she live with a monster?

Opening the door, everything had seemed how they left it, except Sophie's purse was across the room instead of on the table. All the lights were off. He opened the door to the bedroom. She was under the covers crying hysterically. He quickly got his clothes off for the second time that evening, down to his underwear, and got back into the bed. Her digital clock turned 3:26 A.M.

He held her again. Her crying became more fluid and less controlled as he pulled her close. "It's okay, Sophie. It's okay." Her words were choppy and unrecognizable. "I love you, I love you, I love you," he whispered in her ear. Her whimpering made him uneasy. "I love you more than anything."

"I love you too," she whispered back to him, between sobs. He pulled her long locks out of her rubber band.

Life as Victor Creed was not easy. Proving to himself that he was capable of love and compassion was a difficult task, especially with his hostility since childhood. Intimacy was something he never had control with. It was something he thought he would never need. With Sophie here in his grasp, he knew he would never let go. He knew this was his only chance to change.

He just wasn't sure how much longer it would last.


	2. Chapter 2

He woke up alone.

How he hated that feeling The bed wasn't comfortable without Sophie. Usually she waited for him to wake before she got up. They would get up together, he would make her breakfast every morning. He untied himself from her navy satin sheets. He knew something was wrong when their routine was broken.

She was in the kitchen eating dry cheerios, still wrapped in her feather comforter. He knew she hated cheerios. Something was wrong. It was dark in the kitchen. She looked in shock, wide-eyed and not blinking. "Sophie," he whispered, breaking her from her trance. She turned slowly towards him. "Are you well?"

"I got fired," she muttered under her breath, bringing a cheerio to her mouth. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Sophie always keeps the blinds open in the morning. The sunshine always made her happy. It calmed her. The darkness in the room wasn't helping anyone, so he pulled the string, letting the rays of sunlight fill the kitchen.

He picked up her purse off the floor. Her belongings were scattered all over the place. She remained silent as he put everything back into her purse and on the table again. He felt horrible. He didn't know what to say. He was scared most of all. He was scared that she was angry with him because of the previous night. Never had he been responsible for a human. He was using his animal instincts. He did what he thought was right.

The silence was becoming unbearable now. He couldn't stand seeing the woman he loved in distress. He contemplated what to do. Standing there like an idiot, like he had been doing for the last 2 minutes, was not an option. He walked over to the bar stool she was sitting and wrapped his arms around her. For a second it was right. Then she shrugged him off.

He went back into the bedroom, head down, like a dog with his tail between his legs. He decided it was best to leave. He put his sour smelling clothes back on. He wasn't entirely sure where his coat was, but for now, he would have to part with it. The ring was hidden inside a secret compartment. Hopefully, it would remain hidden until the coat was found.

Returning to the kitchen slowly, he walked over to Sophie. He gave her a kiss on her tear-dried cheek. He then headed for the front door, fiddling with his keys slightly. That's what he does when he's entirely too nervous, yet you would never see him fiddling with his keys when it came to killing people and enemy mutants. He never became nervous in situations as that. He went for the doorknob with his shaky, sweaty hand. Turn.

"Leave the spare."

That one very sentence was filled with so much apathy it hurt. It couldn't of been true. She could not of been so careless with the return of her key, she could not have been so callous with the reuniting. How could she say that to him? How could she? She was his drug. He was addicted to Sophie. He loved Sophie. All he could think of was never seeing her smile again.

"Leave the spare," she repeated in equal emotion. He must have been still for an eternity.

Victor's life turned upside down in a matter of a split second. He was speechless, but needed to speak. He needed to roar, but he kept himself under control. He couldn't have another episode like before. Setting the key on the table with a clunk, he gave her a swift, sincere one last look. He then turned the doorknob all the way.

But the impulse! He could feel it beating in his head. He decided that he would not leave without a last word. He would not give up so easily. "Why?" he asked, but his emotions cut through his speech. He wouldn't cry. Victor doesn't cry. "Sophie, please, tell me why," he pleaded. He leaned against the door as if he couldn't support himself otherwise. She wouldn't look at him. The lack of eye contact made him uneasy. Her saw her eyes racing. She refrained from speaking.

"Why?!" he shouted. She flinched. Nothing. "Why?!"

He slammed his hands against the table. It was thunderous. She jumped, but remained fearless. "Why?!" No answer. He couldn't contain himself anymore. "Why?!" He flipped over the table in one rapid motion. She leaped out of her stool, slamming herself against the refrigerator. He threw her vase against the wall. The pieces shattered, showering the scene. His sweat mixed with his tears. He broke the nearest stool in half with his bare hands.

The frustration flared through his nostrils. He took a deep breath. He fell to the floor, leaning against the wall and continued his deep breathing. He couldn't think. Thoughtless. He couldn't believe the mess he had created right in front of him.

He rested his head in his hands, elbows on his knees.

Time passed. He didn't move an inch. After a while, Sophie softly sat next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. He could feel the physical connection between the both of them. It was a bond he wished would never break.

She said the first words, "We have a lot to discuss." He lifted his elbow from his knee and put his arm around her, squeezing her closer to him. he wanted this moment to last forever. He felt accepted. He felt forgiven. He felt loved. Love was a feeling he never had felt until he met this goddess.

She had changed him. He was a villain. He had killed hundreds of people. He was an orphan. He had nobody but her. She was what he wanted to be. She helped him forget. Sophie didn't know much about Sabretooth, nor did he want her to know, but maybe it was for the best. Maybe it was her right to know.


	3. Chapter 3

The last thing he would ever do to Sophie was leave her, but it was for the best. Sabretooth was a savage. He didn't belong in society. He didn't belong here with Sophie. After much thinking, he had concluded that he was a ticking time bomb. Going a whole day without unleashing his claws was unbearable.

He was becoming addicted. Addicted to the feeling of his claws. He didn't feel at peace when they weren't erect. Since the incident two days ago, every moment when he was alone, he would shoot his claws out of his fingertips. It was like a drug that he had overcome then relapsed. It was hard for him to admit this when Sophie was what kept him at peace all this time.

He had many sleepless nights prior to the shooting, nights where he would just close his eyes and think. He would think about leaving, then feel ashamed since Sophie had taken him in on a hunch. He hated to acknowledge that he missed his life before all this. He would have never, in a million years, thought that he would fall in love her. He knew that if he didn't acquire any kind of emotion for her, he wouldn't have to feel thankful or be offending when he left. He was too dependent on her now, for love and for friendship.

He hadn't seriously thought about leaving until this day though. Each and every other time he had thought about going back to his old life, working for Weapon X or traveling as a mercenary assassin, he quickly reminded himself how horrible it was. It was different this time. This time he wanted to leave for Sophie's protection. He didn't know what he would do if she was hurt because of him. With that gun man, who knew who else was after him?

Ever since that moment on the floor, the moment when they agreed to "talk" about what was going on, things had become very awkward between him and Sophie. They hadn't really spoken since he had destroyed her kitchen. She had gotten her job back after pleading with her boss over the phone. She just had to wait until the police had released the information so he would believe her. People get shot in New York City all the time. It was a common excuse, but people don't get mauled very often. The news had called it a "catastrophe" and that nobody "human" would have done that to another human. Well, Victor Creed was no human.

--------------------

He bought Sophie a new dining set and a new vase while she was at work and set it up for her. He didn't have much to do during the day anyway, and he figured she was tired of seeing her kitchen in ruins. He hoped he picked something nice. He knew from living with her for so long, that you couldn't just pick what you saw first. You have to investigate a little and always try it out before you buy it. He thought this new mahogany set was delightful, sexy even, but he realized he wouldn't have a chance to try it out for real.

He went into the bedroom and gathered the few belongings he had into a small canvas bag. This life wasn't him. He used to be independent. He used to fight and kill. Dealing with women was not second nature. He hadn't even seen his own mother since he was a teenager. Who knows how old he is now? He was getting tired of pretending he was of good quality. He was tired of all of this. He was ready to be alone again. His life was a lie.

But then he thought of Sophie. He couldn't just leave without a last word. He wouldn't leave without a last word the other day, and he wont leave without a last one now. He opened her drawer and took out a pen and a piece of sat in the new chairs and thought about what he was going to write her. He knew it would be one of the hardest things he would ever do. He had contradicting thoughts. It was like a battle in his brain. He was full of so many doubts, but he knew this relationship had to end.

_Dear Sophia,_

_I can't stop thinking about the other day. I felt that it would be too hard to tell you this in person. I should have left the key when you told me to, but I'm leaving it now. I can't be with you anymore. I'm not proud of myself. You will never see me again. Thanks for letting me stay here. You helped me in a time of need and I will never forget that._

_Sincerely,_

_Victor Creed_

He set the pen down. He genuinely felt horrible for writing this letter. He had no idea how she would take it. Leaving it on the table, he retrieved his canvas bag and left. He decided to be in his right mind again. Love had clouded his true self. If he cut off his love, he knew he could keep Sophie safe and he could feed his addiction. It was time to go back where he came from. It was time to become who he used to be. That was what he was born to do, not this. Not Sophie, no matter how much he cared for her. Sabretooth doesn't love. He murders. He slaughters. He kills. He knew exactly where he was going to go, but he wasn't sure if it was the best idea.

The guilt was overwhelming, but soon he would be in a position where he could easily forget.


	4. Chapter 4

**19 MONTHS LATER**

It took just about all the life he had left in his body to grasp the pay phone in front of him. He noticed the dried blood under his fingernails as the phone rang. It was his own blood. The blood of Victor Creed, or more commonly known as Sabretooth in these parts. Sitting down in this booth was the first time he had solitude to think in a very long time. He couldn't even remember the last time he slept. Turning his arm, he noticed a giant gash having trouble healing. He was bleeding out badly, something that was foreign to him. He was in thriving pain. Something was wrong. The phone rang again. His hand was shaking.

"Hello?"

Victor grew still. The voice was haunting. It took enough for him to actually dial those ten numbers, but he didn't know what he would say if she actually picked up. His hand started shaking again. He wasn't sure if it was his nerves or his own body failing him. His vision was getting blurry. He needed to vomit. He tried to say something, anything, but he was having difficulty with his words. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember how she looked. He hadn't seen her in quite a while, but that was his choice, his decision. He didn't deserve to remember how she looked, yet he still remembered the sweet vanilla scent of her hair. Nobody could tale that away from him.

"Hello? I can hear you breathing. Who is this?"

With every word, his mind constructed his last memory of her, like puzzle pieces coming together. For a second, he remembered her face, the soft, angelic touch of her hands and her big brown, experienced eyes. He then looked at the pool of blood next to him, which brought him back to reality. He wasn't used to this and he was starting to get anxious. He cleared his throat and spoke, but nothing came out. He swallowed back saliva, then he licked his lips and tried again.

"Hello," his low register managed to squeeze out between breaths. There was silence for a few seconds. He could hear noise in the background, but couldn't quite make out what it was. He wasn't even sure what number he called. It was just the first thing that came to mind.

"Who is this, wait... Victor?" Victor. The name sounded so distant.

"Yeah," he exhaled. He hated sounding so short with her. He did her wrong and she deserved an explanation, but he was in so much pain, he couldn't think of what to tell her. His body started shaking in the booth. He was in the middle of nowhere. He felt safe, and if he died at this moment, at least nobody would witness his shame. He was comfortable for being in the worst pain of his life.

"Victor, where are you?" Her voice was so raw, so real.

"I'm in Cameron, Arizona. Out in the desert." He concentrated on the words, and tried to ignore his body committing treason. He continued, between his deep, staggered breaths, "I'm in a phone booth, there's something wrong with me. I'm bleeding and I'm not healing. I think I've lost a lot already. There is something wrong with me." There was sincere worry in his voice. He didn't understand how something like this could happen. His throat was so dry. He was probably dehydrated and blood was coming out consistently.

"Okay, it's okay. Listen, listen very carefully. You are going to be fine. Where are you bleeding?" Her voice was comforting.

"My arm." The gash was about 9 inches long, an inch wide, and a half inch deep. It was infected, he thought maybe poison. Whatever was inside his arm wasn't organic. He didn't know what it was. Suddenly, he felt a shearing pain. He slammed the phone on his thigh and roared, hoping she couldn't hear him, but she knew he could. He could tell by her apprehensive response.

"Victor," she said hastily, "Take off your shirt, okay? Rip it so it's long and flat. Then I need you to tie it five inches above the wound, as tight as you can. Real tight, okay?"

"I...uh...have to put the phone down."

"That is okay, Victor. Just stay on the phone." He put the phone down and sat himself up. Taking off his shirt took a lot of energy, energy that he didn't have. When the sleeve passed he wound, he roared with intensity. This was not normal. He ripped the shirt, like she told him, and tied it around his biceps. He could already tell a slight improvement with the bleeding. He picked the phone back up, and leaned his back against the wall of the booth, still on the ground.

"Alight... I'm here," he whispered. He had lost his registers, even whispering was becoming difficult.

"Is there anyone around? Why didn't you call 911?" She asked obstinately.

"I can't call a hospital. They don't take people like me." His eyes started blinking slower and slower. He couldn't feel his feet. He heard her set the phone down, then come back. With every blink, he found it harder opening his eyes back up again.

"John, find a hospital near Cameron, Arizona. Go! We don't have much time- Victor are you there?"

Her calling his name brought him back out of delirium, but he wasn't sure for how long. "Yes," was all he could say. He closed his eyes again.

"Victor!" She yelled from the other side.

"What?" He awoke. He noticed his chest moving up and down more slowly.

"I asked you how you were feeling," she said, unsettled.

"I'm really tired. I'm having trouble staying awake..."

"You need to stay awake!" She ordered, "Do whatever you can to stay conscious!"

"I'm so tired Sophie," he choked, forcing his eyes open for the last time.

His hands felt very weak. The shaking was minor now, but he couldn't grasp the phone anymore. It fell out of his hands and into the pool of his blood. He heard the recording telling him to put more money into the phone, but he couldn't. He laid back down on his side. Closing his eyes, he let everything turn to black.


	5. Chapter 5

He awoke in a bed. He hadn't actually opened his eyes yet, but he was warm and had a pillow under his head. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know these things. He was kind of afraid to open his eyes, unsure of what he was going to see. He never liked surprises. It smelled like rubber, plastic, and cleanliness. No longer could he smell the awful stench of his blood. It really was a horrible smell. He tried to think of how many people's blood he had smelt. It was definitely in the hundreds. Why hadn't he noticed the stench before. Was it just his blood that had such a horrible aroma?

His sharp senses were coming back one by one. He heard a subtle consistent beeping. It sounded like the hour mark alarm on a wrist watch, but over and over again, like every three seconds was another hour going by. He could feel a needle inside him, tapped on the inside of his wrist. His mouth tasted like baking soda. He couldn't remember the last time he brushed his teeth. This was an unusual, out of place, taste. All that was left was sight. Opening his eyes was the last thing to do. After blindly scoping his surroundings, he might as well of opened his eyes.

He saw that the he was in a room and it was a very prominent baby blue color. There was a heart monitor about two feet from the bed he was in. He looked at his wrist. He was hooked up to an I.V. He then realized he was in a hospital. The place looked too cheerful and clean to be anything else. He looked at his other arm. It was bandaged, the whole thing, very tightly. It spanned from the bottom of his hand, up three-quarters of the way to his shoulder. He had never had a bandage before, yet he found it somewhat tolerable. At least his arm was still attached. He was grateful for that. He tried moving his fingers, but they didn't move.

He to remain calm. He was surprised he was relatively calm in the first place. Hospitals gave him the creeps and last time he was at one, before mutants (he hated that word) were tolerable, he was kicked out on the streets without any care, medication, or a dime to his name. He was fine after that. Once he pulled out the giant shard of glass out of his leg, he healed up fine. His system was just confused and was healing with the glass still in his leg. He understood why it would have freaked the doctors out, but nobody should of kicked a fifteen year old out of pediatrics. But that was a distant memory.

He turned is head. The blinds of the medium sized window were half drawn, providing the room with natural light. He could see trees through the blinds and cars in the parking lot, but beyond that it was barren and brown. He knew he was still in Arizona. Arizona had a distinct soil, never to be mistaken for anywhere else. He moved his eyes lower, below the window. A couch chair, it was also brown, but a leathery, classy brown, was facing him. It took a second for his eyes to adjust from the tunnel vision. He had stared into the light too long. When the darkness subsided, he saw her. His heart sank into his chest.

She was sleeping. Her hair was in her face and she was curled up on the couch chair with an olive green quilt over her. She looked angelic. The light created a halo around her head. He admired her beauty. She really was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Gazing at her almost made him forget all that had happened between them. Upon thinking about it, he felt ill. It was like a drug addict being reintroduced to his drug of choice after fifteen years of sobriety. He knew even looking at her was a bad idea. He closed his eyes and opened them again to make sure he wasn't imagining the whole thing. She remained.

It wasn't very long until her big eyes awoke. She lifted up her head slowly, then dropped the blanket to the floor. She started to weep, softly, in the chair, then she stood. Not moving, just staring at him in disbelief. He felt a rush of guilt. He swallowed it back and tried to smile.

"Sophie, don't cry," he whispered. She rushed over to him and put her hands on him, one on his head and another on his cheek. Her hands were so soft. He felt an immediate surge of electricity pulse through his entire body upon her touch. He watched her tears stream down her face, past her cheeks, and to her chin, until they dripped onto his own cheeks. They looked each other in the eyes. It took a lot for him to do this, especially after leaving her nineteen months before. The guilt was coming back, but he continued to smile. Nothing could make him more happy at this very moment. He was skeptical that it was even real.

"Please stop, Baby Love, don't cry. I'm okay, see?" he assured, putting his good hand on hers and giving it a squeeze. He wasn't sure if it was all okay, though. He wasn't sure about anything anymore. "How am I here? How are you here?" He was nervous to hear her speak. He didn't know if she was mad or angry. He was gearing up for the worst, but he was surprised when she smiled.

She took her hands off of him and pulled the couch chair closer to the bed. She sat with her elbows on her knees and fingers locked. Her chin rested on her fingers. She took a deep breath. "Well, we called the hospital and told them where you were. It took them a long time to find you, but they had a helicopter. From what I heard, they found you just in time, but since you're so big, they were having trouble getting you onto the gurney." She grabbed her water bottle that was tucked in between the cushions, unscrewed the cap, and took a sip. He continued to watch her, still in awe that she was right in front of him. He wanted her to take his hand again, but she leaned back and molded into the couch chair.

"Anyway," she continued, "We're in Flagstaff now. I told them about your, um," she pointed at his hands, more specifically his finger nails, "and they said that was fine. Their main concern was your arm. Do you know what happened to it?"

He was caught off his guard, "I, uh.." he tongue was getting mixed up with his words. He looked around the room, trying to remember what went down exactly. He glanced at the bandage, as if that would strike a memory. He traced the wrappings up and down with his good hand. It was very painful, even to the slightest touch.

"Victor?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

"I was in a fight," he explained, still in soft tones. Talking wasn't a struggle, but he hadn't talked in his normal tone in who knows how long. "How long have you been here?"

"I got the first flight out after you called, that was on Tuesday," she replied, still with a curious look on her face, "Who were you in a fight with?" He found himself staring out into the barren wasteland that was beyond the hospital parking lot. He had too many distractions in his head to stay on topic. "Victor?" she asked again.

He lost his trance, "What day is it now?"

"It's Friday, but they only let me start seeing you when you got out of the ICU," she said, fiddling with her finger nails. She was looking down at the floor, acting a little hesitant. Her mouth opened a couple times, as if she was going to say something, but she stayed silent. After a few awkward seconds, she continued, "Your arm was really bad, you know. It wasn't broken, but the muscles were significantly damaged. The don't know if you'll be able to use it the same." She caught his eyes, "Whatever got you, severely poisoned you. That's why you weren't healing. They gave you a blood transfusion, but they said time would tell whether or not you would have your ability back-"

"My abilities, huh..." he joked, as if it were no big deal.

She gave him a half smile. He knew she loved his humor, even for serious things as this. She ran her fingers through her hair. He could tell by her eyes that she was in her own deep thoughts. He looked the other direction as a doctor was coming in. He was small and very tanned, probably from the never ending sunlight. It was damn, welting hot in Arizona. He put his clipboard on the bottom of the bed, folded his arms, and smiled.

"Well, well, well, he awakes from the dead!" the doctor chanted. He was a bit turned off by this man, but he looked at Sophie and she was smiling. This man was probably good.

"Yeah, undead," he replied, with a smirk, lifting his arm to offer a handshake.

"My name is Doctor Terron, but you can call me Doc," he began. "I took a look at your charts. You had a blood transfusion, all your levels are normal. Something you can understand, we basically got most of the venom out of you. Enough to stabilize, but not all of it. Do you want to know the good news or the bad news?" he questioned, in a slightly annoying manner. Doc looked like the crocodile hunter, he was having trouble taking him seriously. He was silent. Doc looked back and forth between him and Sophie. "What's it gonna be?" he asked.

"Good news!" she smiled. He admired how she always saw the light in every situation.

"The good news is Victor, here, can go home. Today even! Bad news is he needs to get check ups every week or so, just for blood work. We'll send what we got to a hospital near your home and they'll monitor... everything really. Plus they'll change your bandages, make sure you're not getting an infection, ect. Whatever got you Vic, it got you real good."

"So I can go home now?" he asked.

"If you feel up to it, that is a possibility."

"Are you sure you want to do that? Do you have somewhere you can go?" Sophie interrupted, obviously opposed to the idea. "I don't want you to leave here just yet. I don't think your ready."

He looked over at her and smiled. She was so beautiful. He pieced his words together in his head. He didn't want to let her down, she had done so much for him, but he couldn't stay here. His instincts told him better. Looking at the doctor, then back at her, he sighed, "I would really like to get discharged. Just give my files to me and I'll take them to the hospital, wherever I end up going-"

"Vic, that's nonsense! Come back with me to New York. You can stay at my place until you get back on your feet. We'll send your files to my hospital-"

"Wait, you're a doctor?" Doc interrupted.

"Is that surprising, Malibu Ken?!" She spat. He shut up and left the room.

They both were getting frustrated. He had no idea what to do. Going back home with Sophie was a really, really bad idea. She only had one bed anyway, there wasn't room for him to be a guest there. It would probably bring back some horrible memories. He was the last one to deserve her hospitality. He sucked it up. She was going out of her way. She had already flown cross-country. He might as well, right? The silence in the room was getting unbearable. He sat up, and took off his blanket. Putting his feet on the cold ground, he stood up. His big frame stood taller than both Sophie and Doc, and probably everyone in this hospital, significantly. He took a few steps, just as much as his IV would allow without tangling up wires.

"Come with me," Sophie whispered, standing up. She put her hand on his chest, then embraced him. She was so gentle, so innocent. Their hug was very powerful, he couldn't even remember the last time she hugged him. It felt right, but it wasn't right. He continued to remind himself that this was a bad idea.

"Alright," whispered in her ear, "I'll go." He brushed his fingers through her sweet-scented locks and kissed the top of her head. "I don't know how to thank you-"

"You're a dear friend, Victor, I wouldn't be the same if something happened to you," she weeped. He felt her squeeze him tighter as her tears were absorbed through his hospital gown.


	6. Chapter 6

He couldn't believe he was sitting at the table he had bought for Sophie almost two years ago. He remembered purchasing it at the finest furniture retail store in Manhattan. It was called _Monet's Dreams_. He didn't like the name too much, but the furniture was exquisite. This dining set cost the better half of twelve grand, but he was sure she didn't know that. She would have never let him buy it if she would have known the price. They weren't exactly on good terms when the delivery men sneaked it over. Not bad terms, but definitely not anything close to good. He chose the set knowing she would love it, and after destroying her kitchen... well it was the least he could do. The only other previous interaction with this table was when he put his goodbye letter on it. The one that informed Sophie that she wouldn't be seeing him ever again. Funny how things turn out.

He scanned the room. Her apartment was small. Everything was out in the open besides the bedroom. Her kitchen and dining room were in the same room, walk a little farther and one would hit the living room. Her living room was the smallest room in the apartment. It had a long red couch and an old vintage television on the floor only a few feet across from it. One walks through the living room when getting the the bedroom, which also contained the bathroom. He hadn't been in the bedroom yet, but everything else looked the same. She had replaced some of the art he had given her. Pretty much everything that was his or given to her by him was discarded. This apartment, assuming the bedroom as well, was Victor Creed free. And that didn't upset him as much as he thought it would.

He looked over at Sophie, who was cooking up a mean meal over by the counters. He tried not to admire her backside. The room was relatively silent. He was occupied by his own thoughts to really bring up conversation. He looked over her way again. She was really cooking up a meal, and for some reason, he just couldn't have it. "Hey, uh, don't worry about cooking anything," he explained, standing up and walking over to her. He leaned himself on the counter facing her. "I'm not hungry... and we've, uh, had a real long day. How about you make something simple for yourself? I don't want to be any more of a burden-"

"But I'm just about done cutting up the romaine," she protested.

He took the knife out of her hand and set it down on the counter, carefully. His bad arm was becoming bearable. "I'm really tired," he insisted, "Plus, I, uh, you know, the medication... it's making me drowsy."

"Okay," she mumbled, giving in. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," he smiled. He walked over to her linens closet and opened it while she was putting the cut up food back in the refrigerator. "Which one of these sheets fits the couch?" he asked, sifting through her linen sets.

She turned to him with a very confused look. "You're sleeping on the couch?"

He buried his head deeper in the closet. "Yeah, that's what I was thinking," he mumbled through the comforters.

She walked over to him, munching on a piece of romaine. "Victor, you're way too tall for that couch. Half of your body is gonna hang over that thing," she argued, pulling him out of her linens and closing the closet door. She stuffed the last bit of romaine in her mouth, "I thought you could sleep in my bed. You shouldn't be tossing and turning with your arm anyway."

He put his arms on her shoulders. "Are you sure that's appropriate?" Her big brown eyes blinked, she looked absent, thinking probably. Then, she smiled.

"I don't think it's appropriate," she laughed, "but it's my apartment, and you are here on my invitation. I'm fine with you sleeping in my bed. Are you fine with me sleeping in my bed?" she coaxed.

"I suppose," he smirked. He rubbed her shoulders, then walked towards her bedroom. "I'm going to take a shower. I can't even remember the last time I took one," he said, loudly, from her bedroom, "Is that sad?" he asked.

'Sort of," she teasingly shouted back.

He undressed and grabbed one of her towels from under the sink. He knew she liked extra large towels. She liked to double wrap herself after she got out of the tub.. Luckily for him, the extra large towels fit around him too. He turned the spigot and turned it to hot. Standing in front of the mirror while waiting for the water to heat up, he examined his body. There were quite a few bruises, big purple ones, and scrapes. Don't get him wrong, he was into battle scars, but this was pathetic. He looked like somebody threw him into a washing machine with a knife. He took off his bandage on his arm, but he wasn't sure how to shower with it. Was he supposed to wash his arm? Would too much water hurt it? Would hot water hurt it? He wrapped the towel around his waist and cracked open the bathroom door. "Hey, uh, Sophie?" he shouted, "how should I got about showering with my arm?"

Sophie stormed into the room like she was on call at the ER. He wrapped the towel around him real snug as she pushed the bathroom door open. Calling the situation awkward didn't do it enough justice. As soon as she got a look at his torso, her eyes grew wide. Her hands traced his wounds on his chest and stomach. For a second, she looked like she was shocked that he was cut up pretty bad, it wasn't unusual or anything. She snapped back on, and looked at his arm. "Umm. You can probably wash it, just uh," she muttered, looking away,"don't let the hot water hit it directly," she continued, leaving the bathroom uncomfortably.

It felt nice to shower, yet he was so preoccupied with his thoughts to fully enjoy it. He knew why it was so awkward between him and Sophie. She had been treating him like a mother, or a really clingy girlfriend. That was never her. If anything, he was the clingy boyfriend. (Even though they never technically were together.) He thought that maybe she was just worried about him and that's why she was treating him like this. He didn't know what was going to happen when he got out of this shower either. He didn't have any clothes. He was going to sleep in the bed they made love in countless times. He didn't know what was going to happen when they woke up. He didn't know what he was going to do tomorrow. All these things were giving him an intense anxiety. He couldn't take it much longer.

He got out and dried himself off. When he looked at his old clothes on the floor, he knew he couldn't wear them again. They were really dirty. They were the clothes he was wearing when they found him in the phone booth, well, besides the ripped up shirt. He thought it was nice of the hospital to wash them for him, but the last thing he wasn't to do was wear them. He walked into the bedroom with his towel snug around him. Sophie was in the bed already. A single lamp was on. She was reading a book facing the wall. He paced back and forth, wondering what to do about the clothes situation.

"You still have clean clothes in your drawer, you forgot to take them," Sophie assured, turning the page. She was right. He had completely forgotten about his drawer. He went over to her dresser and opened the third on on the left. Immediately, he smelled his smell from 19 months ago. It was different than his smell now. It smelled happier, if that was possible. It was the only way he could describe such a thing. He pulled out some boxer-breifs and put them on. Then, he hung the towel on the doorknob, and crawled into his side of the bed. He laid onto of the covers. It felt nice in her room. She put her book down and turned of the lamp. He fell asleep relatively quickly.

When he awoke, he smelled something very... vanilla. Sometime in the night, him and Sophie had molded into one another. They were spooning, and his nose was buried in her hair. He got out of bed so fast. She woke up, confused, then realized that they were close, probably the whole night. '"I'm sorry," she whispered, rolling over and going back to sleep.

He went back over to his drawer and found his old sweat pants. He needed water desperately. He opened the bedroom door and headed towards the kitchen. He took out a glass from the cabinet and filled it up with water from the fridge. Suddenly, he heard a key jiggling in the doorknob. His claws erected from his finger tips. It was very, very painful. He grabbed the knife Sophie left on the counter and held it tightly. He didn't know what to expect. Whatever was behind that door was having trouble getting in, but as soon as it opened, he threw the knife towards the impostor.

Only, the impostor caught that knife. On the sharp end too. He was a medium height man, with an athletic build. He was bald and wore thick black glasses. He was wearing dress pants with a button-up white shirt and a lab coat over it. He sat his brief case and the knife on the table. He smiled and put out his hand. Victor shook it, even though he was hesitant. He knew he could twist that man's arm off in a second if he had to.

"You must be Victor," this man speculated.


	7. Chapter 7

The man's hand was sweaty and clammy, and his shake wasn't something to brag about. A shake is everything. He was twice the size of him, if not bigger, yet he didn't feel intimidating. There was something about this man's stance that was leader like, not afraid. Lately, he had been feeling that nobody was afraid of him. He felt weak. He hated that. Whoever this man was, he wanted to get beastly in front of him to show that Victor Creed isn't a man that shakes hands.

"Yeah, and who are you? Why do you have a key?" he questioned. Obviously, he was, well, good for the most part. Or at least good at catching knives. Sophie doesn't give a key to anyone. He wondered if that was his old key this man used. He felt uneasy. He leaned on the kitchen stool.

"I'm John," he smiled. _John. _Victor didn't know why this guy was so relaxed.

"Why do you have a key?" he asked again, feeling his fist grow tight under the counter.

"Isn't that a question for Sophia?" he protested. John was now officially annoying. "Has she made anything to eat?" he added, walking over to the fridge.

What was she? His maid? Really, he thought, who was this guy. He tried to keep his claws in, but he could feel the itch he usually gets right before, you know. He wanted to avoid the pain as well. It hurt when it happened, sure, but never like this. Years of tolerating it had him pretty much immune. And sickly? He never felt sick... because he never was sick. He had no idea what was going on with his body. "She's sleeping," he muttered.

"Shame. I was hoping I would have come just in time. She makes the best, just delicious omelets,-"

The door to the bedroom creaked open.

"Well speak of the devil, look who is awake!" he praised, making his way towards her. Vic's stomach sank. She looked confused, but she did just wake up after all. John embraced her and kissed her on the lips. Vic immediately lowered his head. Not out of politeness, but pure nausea. He had never felt so sick in his life, He jolted towards the front door, down the porch stairs, and onto the side of the apartment where Sophie kept her garbage cans. Then, he vomited. Mostly, bile. He couldn't remember the last time he ate food.

He saw his reflection in a broken mirror somebody had stuck behind the garbage cans. He was white. He wiped his mouth with his good arm and walked to the back alley. He didn't have a shirt on, and he didn't want New York's finest watching him all upset. He tried really hard not to be upset. He should have known Sophie had moved on. A lot can happen in 19 months. It was just the guy that replaced him. And really, when he thought about it, he had no reason to be mad or jealous because he had left her. He chose to end the relationship. He wasn't expecting her to be alone forever, he didn't want her to. Yet she was being very Sophie towards him. It was her idea for them to sleep in the same room, her idea to take him in the first place. He was feeling played.

He leaned on the back wall and slid to the ground. He was feeling sick again, but hopefully the fresh air would keep him well. He tried not to think of John and Sophie together. The image of the kiss was imprinted in his brain. He wished he never would have saw it. What was with him calling her Sophia? Nobody called her that. How serious could this be? Every time the image popped back in his mind, a little memory set of the two flashed through his head: When they first met, their first date, their first kiss. He didn't want to think of the rest.

Victor Creed wasn't a man who wasted his time on humans. He hated human contact and the fact that he succumbed himself for a woman and is now humiliated by the "superior" kind, or whatever, he felt even more alone. He didn't have friends. He was no longer speaking with his brother because of the incident. He had no family. He didn't trust anyone. At least when he was on his own, he didn't feel so unwanted. It was his choice to be isolated, but now that he was back, ironically, he felt even more of an outcast. He desperately needed to leave.

He heard footsteps casually walking his direction. At least his senses were still intact. He knew they were Sophie's. She has this walk, it's unmistakable. He wiped his face again and caught her eye as she turned the corner. She was carrying a t-shirt on her arm.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," she testified, choosing to sit on the ground across from him. "Listen, I'm sorry. I was going to tell you about John," she confessed, picking at the weeds growing through the cracks in the concrete, "I just couldn't find the right time."

"I don't care, Sophie," he exclaimed. He was holding back some intense nausea. Looking at her physically made him sick. This wasn't a good sign.

"I know you do," she empathized, "Here, I brought you this," she said, giving him the shirt. He remembered when she bought him this shirt. She got it for him from a street vender. It was white and in big black letters it said, _You've been Victored. _ She thought it was funny... and it was, simply, because it made no sense. He put it on.

"Thanks."

He looked the other direction. It was quiet, to the usual standard these days. She was still picking at the grass, cross-crossed.

"I want to tell you about John, as a friend. We're friends right?" she asked. He nodded his head, but remained looking the in the opposite direction. He didn't know how many more times he could hear that name without getting sick.

"Okay," she continued, "I, uh, well he is my boss."

He whipped his head around so fast, "What!? You're sleeping with that asshole?" His finger -tips went from itching to burning. He pressed them into the concrete. Hopefully, they would stay submerged. He could already feel his teeth hurting.

Her boss was her worst enemy when he was still in her life. Everyday she would complain about him. He is the one who fired her the night of the shooting. He even sexually harassed her at one point, which was when he said he was going to slice his hands off, but Sophie never told him who he was. Now that he knew, he wanted to slice his body to shreds, not just his hands. He didn't even want to know how this came to be.

"You don't get to judge me-"

"Save it Sophie," he spat, "I don't want to hear about it. Just make sure he's out of my sight when I get my things." He stood up, which caused Sophie to stand up.

"Why should he have to leave?" she thundered, getting really frustrated.

"Because if I see him again, I wont be able to resist killing him," he ranted, bending down into her face.

"Come on, Victor, that man in there saved your life!" she glowered. She started pacing back in forth in the alley way.

"I don't care if that man saved my life. I didn't call for yours or his help, I was calling to say goodbye," he justified, putting out his arm and leaning on the wall. He was feeling light-headed.

"Are you okay?" Sophie asked, in her normal, caring tone. She got close to him and put her hand on his chest. "Let's go inside," she whispered, "You don't look good." He pushed her away, a little too hard. She tripped over the cracked concrete and fell to the ground. His jaw dropped. He couldn't believe he just threw her to the ground. Guilt... again.

"Oh my, I'm so sorry, here" he held out his hand, but she smirked and pulled him down with her. He landed on top of her. He heard all the air in her lungs escape. He rolled over and she started laughing hysterically. He didn't know if he should laugh or not, but he did smile. He couldn't help but smile at this little creature. She always managed to surprise him.

She rested her head in his shoulder. They probably looked really weird laying out in the alley, but he didn't care. He grabbed her hand and held it. Her skin was so soft. They spent ten minutes just staring at the clouds. She was the first to sit up. He mimicked her. She took his chin and forced him to look at her.

"You are the king of second chances, Tiger. Give him a chance. For me?" she encouraged. Her expression was so raw and innocent. He couldn't ruin this moment.

"Sure..." he gave in, "Okay."


End file.
